


It's Hard To Get Old Without A Cause

by incorrectbatfam



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Songfic, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: Five times Alfred got older and one time he felt young again.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth & Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Thomas Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Martha Wayne/Thomas Wayne, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	It's Hard To Get Old Without A Cause

“You are quite the persistent one are you, Master Bruce? No matter, the ruling still stands. Either you eat these carrots or we are adding an extra ten minutes to bath time.”

Alfred was met with big eyes and a pouting puppy dog face from the tiny baby in the high chair. The child’s head turned away at the mashed carrots in the bowl, no matter how the butler tried to maneuver the spoon to feed him.

“I see you’ve made your decision then. Longer bath time it is.”

Heels clicked lightly down the stairs into the kitchen. 

“Thank you again Alfred for watching the baby. It seems like there’s a different gala in Gotham every week nowadays.” A dressed-up Martha Wayne placed a kiss on Alfred’s cheek and baby Bruce’s head. 

“Hopefully we won’t stay at this one for too long.” A different voice, more gruff, emerged from the hallway. “We’re just going to congratulate the Drakes on their new kid. Not much younger than Bruce, what was that baby’s name again?”

“It’s Jack, honey. We went over this,” Martha said. She turned to Alfred. “Thomas and I are going to pick up a card for them and then head to the party. We should be back around eleven.” 

Thomas bent down to reach the baby’s eye level. “Don’t give Alfred too much trouble, okay Brucie? He’s getting older too.”

The infant simply cooed in response.

“If I may speak for myself, Mister Wayne, I’d say I’m still in the prime of my life. Young Master Bruce ought to be no trouble for me.”

  
  


**1.**

Everyone knew the story from there, but Alfred never expressed his regrets from that night. Had he accompanied them to the theatre, had he brought one of his own concealed revolvers…

Losing Thomas and Martha was unspeakably difficult. It felt like losing friends, family. Alfred couldn’t fathom eight-year-old Bruce’s anguish. Being the sole guardian left in the Wayne house, he had to put on a brave face for a child. Some days it felt like a facade, a cowl that long predated the Batman’s.

Speak of the devil, Alfred swore that every night he had to stitch Bruce up, he gained three gray hairs before two of them fell out.

“Master Bruce, I urge you to be more cautious out on the field,” Alfred said, tossing away some bloodied up wipes. 

Still partly in his kevlar costume, not looking up from his computer as he worked on another syndicate case, Bruce said, “I’ll be fine, Alf. Someone’s gotta clean up Gotham’s streets.”

“I know that, Master Bruce, and I’m not trying to dissuade you from your mission. However, it doesn’t hurt to watch your own back. Or better yet, get an ally to do it for you,” Alfred replied, tucking away the medical supplies.

The Batman grunted, “I work better alone.”

Alfred sighed and placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Just...be careful, lad.”

  
  


**2.**

If Bruce’s nightly escapades weren’t going to give the old butler a heart attack, the child swinging from an expensive crystal chandelier fifteen feet above the ground certainly would.

Alfred was cleaning the windows in the library when he first heard it. Jingling, like really heavy wind chimes. Which was odd because they didn’t own any wind chimes. Then he heard screaming and had to check it out, only to find the first Robin dangling from the ceiling fixtures.

“Master Dick, get down from there this instant!” Alfred exclaimed.

Dick swung forward, making Alfred drop the spray bottle in his hands. “But this is fun, Alfie!” He swung back again, away from the man. “Whoo!”

“Master Dick, you’re going to get yourself injured!”

Alfred rushed to grab a stepladder from the other room, propping it up right in the middle to catch the boy. He’d never felt so much panic in his entire life. Using a broom, he did his best to slow the speed of the swinging light, hoping to heavens he could do it before Dick got hurt or the ceiling tiles collapsed on them both.

Next time the boy swung by, Alfred grabbed onto him, nearly losing his own balance in the process but managing to get the chandelier to stop moving. He pried the young acrobat from the lights, which proved harder with the kid’s iron grip, like a monkey clinging to its jungle vines.

“That is enough, young man,” Alfred chided as he set Dick on the ground. “I’m sure if Master Bruce saw that he would have a heart attack too.”

“You sure he would?” Dick asked, eyes surprisingly lit up. “I totally wanna see that. Can I do it again when he gets home?”

A death glare matched with a finger pointing to the bedroom was all that was needed.

**3.**

It was one thing losing Thomas and Martha all those years ago, but burying young Jason Todd was the most heartbreaking thing Alfred ever did. 

All he could think through the funeral was, _ “It’s not fair. He was young, far too young. I shouldn’t have allowed him to get tangled in this mess. It’s not fair.” _

But just like with the Wayne parents, Alfred didn’t let his other two boys see the tears he shed behind closed doors. No, he had to be their rock. He placed Bruce and Dick’s well-being first and foremost because that was how things were supposed to be. Thus, he confined his own grieving to when Nightwing and Batman went on patrol or when he dusted the wine storage, where nobody could hear the sobs through the soundproof walls.

Or most notably, while Alfred did the hardest thing he had ever done: pack uup Jason’s things.

The room was relatively tidy when he walked in. Jason was always a cheerful, well-mannered boy around the house (Alfred refused to think about that other life). He loved books, evidenced by the well-worn spines that filled the shelves. He was a bright child, always loved learning. On the dresser was a framed photo Bruce took last Christmas, when Alfred taught Jason the secret Pennyworth holiday cookie recipe. They were so happy, laughing as the boy somehow managed to get powdered sugar in his hair. Perhaps it was the fact that they were a family for the first time in forever, only to have it be brutally ripped away, that hurt the most.

(And if Alfred went to bed that night feeling a little more tired than usual, that was just the heavy lifting.)

  
  


**4.**

For a child genius, Tim Drake had an extremely thick skull. And he pushed himself too much; far too much to be healthy for a seventeen-year-old boy. Nobody should have to carry the weight of a superhero team  _ and _ a multibillion-dollar organization, especially not young Master Timothy. Alfred hated seeing him always so exhausted and forgetting to take time to himself.

That was what ran through the butler’s head as he brought a glass of water to the teenager’s bedroom. He rapped at the door, three swift knocks. There was a moment of silence before the sound of a desk chair squeaking and heavy shuffling was heard. The door opened, revealing a teen with messy hair and dark circles under his eyes.

“Master Timothy, I shouldn’t have to remind you to hydrate every few hours,” Alfred said.

Tim took the glass of water and chugged it down before apologizing. “Sorry, Alf, been busy with some League of Assassins cases. I’m trying to work out if they have any kids in there that need rescuing and stuff.”

The butler raised an eyebrow. “And have you found anything?”

“No. I shouldn’t be surprised. Who would actually raise a kid in the League? Like an actual baby?”

Alfred scanned Tim up and down, worry lines forming above his brown. “You look tired, Master Tim. When was the last time you slept?”

“Uh...Wednesday?” The reply sounded more like a question.

Alfred sighed disappointedly at how long the boy’s been awake as he took the empty glass back—and allowed himself into the bedroom to collect other dirty dishes that were festering on the desk. He glanced at the overflowing laundry hamper but decided that could at least wait until after the people in the manor were taken care of.

“Go freshen up. I suggest changing your shirt too. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes if you would like to join the rest of human civilization.”

  
  


**5.**

If there was anything Alfred was confident in, it was his ability to handle misbehaving, petulant children. He raised Bruce by himself, and after that numerous other little boys and girls. However, nothing in his arsenal could prepare him for the firestorm that was Damian Wayne (because of course the most difficult one had Bruce’s genes). The child was rude and bratty from the start, but Alfred didn’t blame him—rather, he blamed Talia Al Ghul’s parenting. 

Even though it didn’t happen right away, Alfred had his ways of getting through people. As exhausting as it was, and as many wrinkles as it caused the man to gain, pretty soon Alfred had instilled a sense of manners and respect for others that the League so conveniently forgot about. Still, it unnerved Alfred how Damian was the spitting image of Bruce at that age not just in looks but also in intellect, darkened demeanor, the desire to get out and fight. The differences between the two, however, fascinated the old man. Damian had a love for animals unlike anything Alfred has seen before. And while he knew Bruce as a child at least for some time, Damian rarely got the chance to act his age. Which was why it was harder to say no when he and his friend begged for a chauffeur to the arcade on a school night. 

(Even if Alfred didn’t show it too extensively, he swelled with joy when he learned that the child loved him so much that he named a cute black and white cat after him.)

Alfred was proud of how much Damian had grown in the little time that he’d known the boy. Sure, he saw all the Robins as his surrogate grandchildren, but tiny Master Damian held a special place in the old man’s heart.

His death hurt almost more than Jason’s.

  
  


**+1.**

Of all the rooms in the manor, Alfred’s favorite place to clean was the family room. He remembered back when there was only one sofa, as he dusted the place now, there were at least three and earlier he overheard Bruce talk about buying another for their ever-expanding household. The mantlepiece was his favorite, with photos of everybody not just as formal portraits, but doing things as a  _ family _ . Like they were supposed to.

There was nine-year-old Master Dick posed in the front yard surrounded by glowing orange and purple decorations. Alfred remembered that day because Dick insisted on making his own costume instead of buying one from the many expensive shops Bruce recommended. Except Dick wasn’t the most adept at sewing, so that left him cutting too-big eye holes in a bed sheet (sans parent permission). 

There was one from half a year ago, at a summer barbecue. Jason and Damian going at each other with pool noodles like swords. Alfred could practically see the photo moving as the younger boy tackled the older and they both wound up falling into the water. Jason tried to keep Damian under but the latter retaliated with a surprisingly swift underwater kick to the…

(Alfred sighed melancholically. Though the boys were back with them and the family was whole again, it didn’t erase the heartache that lingered from having to bury them in the first place.)

There were many other pictures, so much that there was barely an inch of space for Alfred to move them in order to dust the surface. They spanned from Dick’s first days all the way up to last week. Movie nights. Take Your Child To Work Day. Countless Christmas presents and birthday candles all crammed into one place that Alfred considered buying a larger fireplace just so they can add more later.

There was Tim’s high school science fair project that he and Bruce stayed up all night to work on. They might have made a careless miscalculation that literally blew up in the judges’ faces, but they won first place and Bruce never looked so proud in his entire life, posing with his third son as they were both covered in orange goop.

Then there was Miss Cassandra– 

Actually, that wasn’t a photo. It was actually Cassandra standing silently next to Alfred (how long was she there?).

“Miss Cassandra, what a surprise,” Alfred said. “I thought you were training downstairs.”

She fidgeted in her spot uncharacteristically nervously. The butler picked up on that right away.

“Is there something wrong? You seem troubled.”

Cass replied, “The community center...they are hosting a father-daughter dance tonight.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, I’m sorry to inform you that Master Bruce is currently off-world.”

“I know…” she said. “But...I want to go. Because I’m a daughter. You’re a father to someone too, if I’m correct?”

“Yes, I do have my own daughter, Julia. She’s in England, however.”

“But you are _ a  _ father. And I am _ a  _ daughter.”

It finally clicked in his head. “Would you like me to accompany you to the dance?”

Cass beamed. “I thought you’d never ask! I should get ready. It’s in...three hours.”

“Oh my, that soon? I still have to get my good tuxedo. Would it be alright if we’re fashionably late, Miss Cassandra?” Alfred asked with a smile.

“Fashionably late is perfect!” She lunged forward suddenly and wrapped her arms around Alfred. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He returned the hug before the girl went off. He finished the last of the dusting quickly before changing into his own formal attire. After telling Dick to watch his siblings and giving Jason cooking instructions for dinner and asking Tim to take a break and reminding Damian to walk the dogs, Alfred and Cass piled into the car, ready to go. 

As expected, the two arrived a solid half hour after everyone else. Both “father” and “daughter”, dressed to the nines, made their way to the main ballroom where other guests were already swaying to the jazz band on stage.

Cass stopped and hesitated. “Uh...one more thing, Alfred...I don’t know how to dance.”

“Not a problem,” he said. “I’m only seventy-four years young, I can show you how it’s properly done.”

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the song Forever Young by Alphaville


End file.
